Sunday, August 7, 2011

Love Letter...

What can you say about a twenty-five year old girl who died? That she was beautiful. And brilliant. That she loved Mozart and Bach. And the Beatles. And me

While reading the legendary lines from the Love Story by Erich Segal, my heart skipped a beat. The cup of coffee that was keeping me from drowsing off, now helped me from spilling my eyes with tears. I clenched on to it for support. The lines were filled with love, compassion, pain and sorrow. The same love and compassion I felt for Raj, the moment I set eyes upon him on the first day of college.

He was the macho-man, and I was the silent, library type. Girls would fight to grab an opportunity to be seated next to him, while I only wished to do so. I tried avoiding him, turning pages of the books in the library. I tried letting myself know that I was not his type. And never would be. I tried writing down notes to myself telling why I would never have a chance with him. But deep in my heart, I hoped for him to glance at me at least once. I hoped for him to take the first step in asking me my name. After all that is the guy's job right?

Days passed by. And then months. But my hopes remained to be hopes. They even started to fade away. Slowly, but reluctantly. I still wished he would have noticed me. Seen me through the wide glasses and braided hair. Seen how much I loved him and cared for him. But, would he?

Oh yes he did! The most special day in any lover’s life. The V Day! I entered the classroom to a bunch of roses waiting for me on my desk. With a personalized card, saying, “You thought you were blind to me. You thought I didn’t notice you, everytime you walked into the classroom. On the outside your face was filled with those wide glasses, and your hair was always neatly braided. But you were the only person who didn’t make any effort to make me notice you. No make-up, no short dresses. You were just you. The uniqueness in you just grabbed me towards you. And I have been dieing to tell you that I love you, and request you to do me the honour of being my valentine for today and the rest of my life”. And yes I did.

We had our moments of love and fights. Our fights would end up with me crying and he apologizing. But we never told each other a sorry or thank you. Because, true love never asked you to do so. Or so we felt. Even with years passing by, and his stomach gaining a little more of fat and eyes surrounded by wrinkles, he continued to be a macho-man. Atleast for me. Our moments of love. Was filled with pure love.

But it’s all over. It came to an end, the day the truck hit Raj’s car, on his way back home from office. My life came to an end. Or so I thought. Until I went through his diary for the first time, where it was written. Raj probably saw it coming. It read,

“Love, you are the best thing that ever happened to me. I couldn’t have asked for a better wife and life. The life that you gave me. You stood by me through thick and thin. Through darkness and light. You loved me no matter how rude I was with you. You always welcomed me with a smile on that beautiful face of yours, no matter how late it was. I do not know if I have lived up to your expectations and love you poured me with. But one thing I assure you is that no matter how far we might seem to be, I am always next to you, loving you, hugging you tight and supporting you. In what ever you do. P.S: I love you. And always will.”

So what do you say about a twenty-nine year old boy who died? That he was awesomly handsome. And intelligent. And that he loved soccer, and his guitar. And my chapathi and paneer butter masala. And me.